Clarice Returns
by Frau Gloess
Summary: An old flame . . . a new case . . . an ongoing heartache . . . . Winner of five 2005 Golden Acorn Awards, including Best Story, Best Drama, and Best Romance!
1. Prologue

_Author's note: All characters from Chip 'n Dale's Rescue Rangers with the addition of Clarice are copyright Disney. The APF and McDugell are creations of Matt Plotecher. All other characters are creations of Rachel S. Gloess._

_The author would like to thank CD for his lasting dedication to Clarice, the female chipmunk from the Chip and Dale short "Two Chips and a Miss." CD has also been a great help with facts and other information that have contributed to this story. She would also like to thank her husband Hardy for his feedback and inspirations that have greatly improved this story._

_**Clarice Returns**_

By Rachel S. Gloess

Prologue

Snow fell softly outside of Ranger HQ. It was a lazy February day, and the occupants embodied that feeling. Chip sat flipping through a Sureluck Jones novel and Dale re-organized his comic collection for the thirtieth time. Monty and Zipper were tinkering in the kitchen, and Gadget was refurbishing one of several inventions. A knock on the door startled Chip out of his reverie. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a case, he answered the door.

And promptly collapsed.

Dale looked up briefly from his comics when he heard the _thud_ of Chip's body. At first, he began to laugh hysterically at Chip's apparent predicament and reaction, rolling about on the floor, holding his sides. After the moment of hilarity subsided, he choked back his glee and finally moved enough to see who the visitor could be. He blinked several times, not sure what to think. "Uhhhh . . ." was all he could manage, his jaw hanging slack.

A demurely dressed lady chipmunk stood in the doorway, aghast at Chip's "welcome." "Gee," she stated. "I didn't think he would react like _that_." She turned her emerald eyes on Dale. "Dale! How are you?"

"Uhhhhh . . . ." His eyes were now glassy, his prior amusement drained.

"What's goin' on in here?" Monty emerged from the kitchen in his customary apron. "Too-ra-loo! Ma'am, what can we do for you, and . . . why is little Chippah lyin' on the floor? And Dale—are you droolin'?"

The lady, ignoring Dale's stupefied response, stepped gracefully over Chip's body to shake Monterey's hand. She spoke in soft, melodic tones. "My name is Clarice. I'm very pleased to meet you."


	2. Introductions

After some smelling salts, Chip was revived enough to make his way to his room. He made no mention of Clarice and did not even look in her direction. After Gadget made sure he was settled, everyone (including Dale and excluding Chip) sat to hear Clarice's story. Clarice took a deep breath and plunged into her narrative.

"Well, most of you know that Chip and Dale used to play at a small nightclub a few years ago. Well, I was the one that sang with them." She brushed self-consciously at her mauve wool dress. "I really enjoyed being their friend." Dale snorted derisively and Monty and Zipper both elbowed him for quiet. Clarice blushed, but did not respond otherwise to the interruption. "In fact, Chip and I . . . became an item."

"You were engaged," Dale darkly replied.

Everyone gasped.

Clarice lowered her eyes. "He's right." She sighed. "Chip proposed to me, and I accepted. We were to be married on Valentine's Day." She fell silent.

"Golly," murmured Gadget.

Monty raised an eyebrow. "And when was this?"

"Two years before we met you guys," Dale answered. He glared at Clarice. "After the . . . _incident_, Chip and I moved here to the city and met up with Plato."

"/Incident/" squeaked Zipper.

Clarice became distinctly uneasy. Without meeting their eyes, she told the Rangers about what had happened. "I was young and foolish. We had been traveling quite a bit. Another nightclub owner asked me to sing at his bar. I agreed, even though it meant not singing with Chip and Dale. I made a bad decision."

Dale stood, rage in his eyes. "I— I caught you with . . . that guy." He pointed his finger accusingly. "You didn't think that Chip was good enough."

Clarice finally looked at him, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. "No! It wasn't like that!"

Dale paused as if he were about to say something else, but instead left the room. Clarice buried her face in her hands and sobbed. The remaining three Rangers exchanged uncomfortable glances. Monty handed her his handkerchief. She delicately blew her nose and tried to wipe away the tears. Gadget shifted awkwardly in her seat. She dared to speak.

"Clarice, why did you come to us?"

Clarice stifled her sobs. "My—my manager is missing. We've been located in Los Angeles for quite a while, and I was going to make a comeback here in the city." She dabbed at her eyes. "I went to the Acorn Club last night to run through some numbers for tomorrow night and he never came. He's always present when I sing, even when it's just rehearsal." She sniffled. "I have read the newspaper articles about all of you, and I knew that you could help me." Her voice dropped in volume. "I just wasn't sure that you _would_."

"Well, golly," murmured Gadget. "Of course we'll help you, Clarice. I mean, we help everyone in trouble."

"But not backstabbing liars."

Chip's voice drew everyone's attention. He stood in the hallway opening, his eyes stony, his voice colder than anyone had ever heard it.

"Get out," he said softly. He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes daring her to say more. She dared.

"Chip, I—"

"I'm not asking, Clarice." He cleared his throat, which was rough from tears. "Please. Leave."

"Now, Chippah—" Monty began. Chip's cold, pain-filled eyes focused on Monty, and his speech died.

Clarice stood, tears filling her lovely green eyes again. "Chip, please, can we just talk?" He stared at her as if she spoke another language. She tried again, her voice trembling. "Just for a minute?"

Chip's brain urged him not to listen, to just lead her outside and slam the door in her face. However, his heart and conscience lead him otherwise. He nodded once and stalked into the kitchen. Clarice forced an apologetic smile to the remaining Rangers, then followed him.

Zipper turned to Monty as the door swung closed behind the two chipmunks. His expression and gestures said it all—_what is going on_? He gestured quickly to them that he was going to check on Dale. After a slammed door sounded from the recesses of their home, Zipper was back fairly quickly, disappointment in his eyes.

Gadget was utterly bewildered at this turn of events. "Monty, can this all be true?"

Monterey shrugged one shoulder, confused himself. "Well, luv, you've gotta admit—there's a lot we don't know about Chip or Dale and their past." He heaved a heavy sigh. "I guess we just play nice and see what happens."

"Why do you think they never told us about this?" Gadget stared at her clasped hands, feeling a little hurt.

Monty shifted closer to Gadget, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. He smiled a little sadly. "Same reason why I never told any of ya about Desiree." He shook his head in remembrance. "It's never easy to tell others things we'd rather just forget."

Zipper squeaked a soft affirmative. Gadget gave them both a crooked grin as they waited to see what would be the outcome of Chip and Clarice's conversation.


	3. A Confrontation

Clarice braced herself as she entered the kitchen, expecting his explosive temper. Instead, she was somewhat surprised to see a very saddened, very troubled chipmunk. Chip took a seat at the table, gesturing sharply for her to do the same.

Clarice broke the silence. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Chip snorted softly, looking away. A solitary tear ran down his cheek. "Yeah?" he whispered. "For what?"

Clarice was startled and let down her guard. She had wanted him to yell at her, to tell her how disappointed he was in her, to tell her to go to—

Chip interrupted her thoughts by pushing his chair back abruptly and pacing about the floor. "Clarice, I know I pushed you away. I know that I could get . . . crazy sometimes." He turned and stared into her liquid eyes. "But I never thought . . . ." He trailed off, unable to finish.

Clarice took a shuddering breath. She had run through this conversation thousands of times in her mind, but never thought that she would be able to actually have it. "Chip, please, you need to understand. I was just so tired of touring. I mean, Hawaii was fantastic, but—"

"_But_?" Chip spat. "Clarice, Hawaii was _ours_, if you remember." He turned his back. "I should never have asked you to marry me."

Clarice dropped her gaze. "No, Chip. I just . . ."

"Shouldn't have said yes?"

"Yes—no!" She shook her head, confused. "Chip, I . . . I don't know what came over me. I really did want to marry you." She paused, steeling herself. "Your temper, though." She gave a short, almost sarcastic laugh. "I mean, I was just talking with Max."

Chip turned around slowly, clenching his teeth. "Yeah. First, you were talking to him. Next thing I know, Dale finds you and him . . . well," he smirked, "in a compromising position."

Clarice shook her head frantically. "Chip, I don't know what you heard, but that's really not what happened."

Chip raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me my best friend lied to me? Clarice, I know Dale was jealous, but you can't honestly believe that I'll trust you on this one."

Clarice threw her hands up in frustration. "Max was asking me if I would headline at his new club in Los Angeles. I don't know what Dale saw, but I never did anything with Max to hurt you."

Now Chip's eyes were fiery. "You _left_, Clarice. You never even took the time to explain yourself. Our _manager_ had to tell me that you were gone. That was proof enough." Chip took off his hat and flung it on the floor in anger. He was too livid to shed tears.

Clarice's eyes widened in shock. "Chip—I was told that you two were already back on the mainland." She stood and uncertainly walked closer to him. "I promise, Chip. I would have told you, but . . . I thought _you_ were already gone."

Chip could only stare at her. "You've got to be kidding me," he stuttered. He stared her in the eye, but she never wavered. "You—you're telling the truth," he whispered.

Clarice was now about to explode with anger of her own. "Of course I am!" she seethed. "You seriously thought I would leave my own fiancé and run off with some two-bit manager?" She reigned in her anger and turned away from Chip to lean on the window sill and stare moodily out into the snowy park.

Chip nearly stumbled over to the table to sit in his chair again. Thoughts tumbled around in his disturbed brain. His mind returned to a time many years in the past.

"_Hey, guys, watch me!"_

_Clarice and Chip laughed merrily as Dale waved to them from the surf, then proceeded to perform a painful looking belly flop. The late afternoon sun washed over them as they lay on the warm sand._

_Clarice stretched before rising from her sunbathing. "Well hon, I've gotta go get ready for tonight." Brushing sand from her fur, she surveyed the tropical paradise. "Gosh, this place never ceases to amaze me."_

"_What do you mean?" Chip asked lazily. He was still basking in the warm sun, admiring the vision of Clarice in her bikini. _

_Clarice giggled and swatted him with her towel when she noticed his ogling gaze. "Hawaii, of course. It's just so gorgeous." She wrapped her towel around her as she continued to drink in her surroundings. Snapping herself out of her reverie, she gave Chip a wink, blew him a kiss, and headed back toward the hotel to prepare for the evening's show._

_Chip watched her as she left. He couldn't have been happier. Four months ago, Clarice had "chosen" him to be her steady beau. He squelched the guilty thoughts that surfaced whenever he remembered the start of their relationship. He and Dale felt they both had a chance to be with Clarice, but when Clarice had agreed to date Chip exclusively, Dale had almost lost it. Dale wouldn't talk to Chip for two weeks, nearly ruining their long time friendship. Clarice had finally patched things up by reasoning with Dale. Chip never knew what she said; all he knew was that Dale began acting "normal" again . . . well, as normal as Dale could act. _

_The sun's rays spread across the horizon in a splash of brilliant color as it began to set. Chip's thoughts were only on Clarice. Their relationship had been a whirlwind; their nights consisted of singing, playing, and dancing, either professionally or recreationally. Days consisted of rehearsing, rehearsing, rehearsing. The couple didn't have much alone time, but it didn't matter to Chip. The delight that filled his heart when she sang along with him and Dale, the pride that overwhelmed him when he saw how other men reacted to her . . . combined with the fact that he knew she was _his_. It was all so wonderful. He was working on controlling his temper, although it was very difficult. He still lashed out at Dale from time to time, a habit that clearly annoyed Clarice. Only one time did he really get angry with Clarice, and he regretted it to this day. Tears were his weakness; Chip could beat himself up worse than anyone else when tears were shed. He tried to be a "tough guy," but after his anger wore off, so did the image._

_Drops of salt water in his face disrupted his thoughts. Dale was standing over him, wringing wet from the surf. "Hey, Chipper, ready to head back? I'm getting' tired fightin' the waves."_

_Chip gave him a wry smile before reluctantly leaving the warm sand. "Yeah, I guess so." He collected his beach gear and began walking with Dale. He became lost in his thoughts again until Dale nudged him with an elbow._

"_What's on your mind, buddy?"_

_Chip couldn't help but grin, raising Dale's suspicion meter. Chip looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. "Can you keep a secret?" he whispered._

_Dale chuckled. "Of course! Tell me, tell me, tell me!"_

_Chip took a deep breath and spoke cautiously, careful to keep his voice low. "I'm—I'm going to ask Clarice to marry me."_

_Dale stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"_

_Chip stopped too, a bit worried at Dale's reaction. "Well, yeah," he said slowly. He furrowed his brow. "Is—is that ok?"_

_Dale's face then creased into a huge, buck-toothed grin. "Definitely, pal! Wowie zowie . . . congratulations!" He wrapped Chip in a bear hug. Chip hugged him back, relieved that Dale wasn't angry. Chip pulled out of the hug and his face became serious._

"_Dale, will you be my best man? If she says yes, anyway."_

_Dale slapped Chip on the back so hard that Chip almost fell over. "Yeah! Oh, boy, do I get to wear my tux?"_

_Chip laughed to himself at Dale's exuberance and tried not to wince at the thought of Dale's striped tux jacket and polka dotted bow tie. "Uh, maybe we should ask Clarice. If she says yes," he added again._

_The duo began walking again. Dale scratched his head. "Why do you keep saying that?"_

_Chip turned to Dale, confused. "Saying what?"_

"_If."_

_Chip shrugged. "Well . . . I'm nervous." Dale gave him an "oh, come on" look, but they walked the rest of the way to their hotel in relative silence._

Chip blinked, coming out of his trance. He stared blankly at Clarice, who had since retrieved his fedora from the floor. She chewed her bottom lip as she turned the battered hat in her hands, inspecting the small, neatly repaired tears in the stiff fabric. Her eyes finally locked with Chip's. Clarice cautiously held out the treasured item. Chip slowly took the hat, but laid it carefully on the table instead of returning it to his head. Clarice turned back to the snowy park scene in the window.

"I don't know you anymore, Chip," she murmured. "Your life is totally different now. Do you even still play?"

Chip shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't really have time anymore." Feeling drained and still confused, he sat back down at the table and toyed with his beloved fedora. "I've—I've got more important things to do now."

Clarice nodded. "I see." She cleared her throat. "I kept all the newspaper articles about you."

Chip raised an eyebrow. "All of them?"

She nodded, a smile starting to curve her lips. "Everything from the headlines to the captions. I must say, Chip, I'm . . . surprised."

"Surprised?"

Snow began falling again while Clarice answered. "I never thought you'd be a detective. I knew you were the serious type, but I suppose it never struck me that you would . . . ." She trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Risk my life for others?"

Clarice winced involuntarily. She sighed and turned to face Chip, tears glistening, but not falling. "Chip, I couldn't believe all those times . . . all those times that you were almost . . . taken away."

Chip tore his gaze away from Clarice's sorrow-filled eyes. "Clarice, I'm a Rescue Ranger now. Everyone in this team has an understanding that we'll do whatever it takes to finish a case." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant. "Danger is sometimes going to be part of it." He forced himself to look back into her eyes. "I know I've changed, Clarice. I just hope it's for the better."

Clarice held his gaze. "I'd like to find out." She blinked, unsure if the words had actually escaped her lips. Judging from Chip's reaction, though, they most definitely had.

Chip could not hold back the few tears that slid down his cheeks. He shook his head slowly. "Clarice, I—" He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. "I just don't know what to do right now." He gritted his teeth; Chip was never one to admit indecision. He took hold of his emotions and, with great effort, stopped his tears. "Look," he sighed, "let's just go back in there and work on this case. We need to talk about this kind of thing . . . later."

Clarice nodded. She watched him warily as he held open the kitchen door that led back into the main seating area.

Gadget, Monty, and Zipper looked up in surprise as the pair walked in. Monty winked at Clarice, sufficiently unnerving Chip. He knew it wasn't a romantic gesture, but he honestly wanted Monty on his side when it came to any possible disputes; of course, though, Monty was a true guardian of the "fairer sex."

Gadget and Zipper did their best to smile graciously at the pair while noticing the reddened eyes and disheveled appearances of both their comrade and client. Zipper caught the eye of Chip, who discretely nodded. Gadget, exchanging glances with Zipper, delicately cleared her throat. "Well," she asked cheerily, "where do we start?"

Chip assumed his familiar authoritarian air. "Zipper, please get Dale. We're off to the Acorn Club." Taking an uneasy breath, he murmured, "Rescue Rangers, away . . . ."


	4. Revelations

Dale stayed at the edge of the group as Chip issued orders from the Acorn Club's front entrance. "Monty, you and Zipper should talk to the bartender. See if he can tell you the last time and place he saw Max Travinski. Dale, you and Gadget can take the Ranger Wing to Max's apartment; see if you can find anything there. Clarice and I will talk to some other employees." If Chip was at all nervous or phased by his new case, one would have been hard pressed to notice. Dale, on the other hand, was a wreck.

Normally, Dale would have leaped with joy to be on assignment with Gadget. Her sparkling personality, her lovely blue eyes, her entrancing figure . . . . But Dale's mind was not on Gadget at all. He cautiously watched Chip and Clarice together. Nasty thoughts lurked in his mind about the young woman. Clarice had changed from her dress into a sleek but comfortable turtleneck sweater and jeans; even dressed down, she was a beautiful woman, but he could not ignore the past. Dale kept staring even as Gadget gently pulled him toward the Ranger Wing. Burrowed deep in his coat, he stared moodily ahead as Gadget piloted them toward Max's apartment.

Gadget sneaked a look toward Dale. Trying to be a good friend, she gave him a bright smile. "So, Dale, what's on your mind?"

Dale could only stare at her. He knew Gadget could be naïve, but this seemed ridiculous! He furrowed his brow as he answered her. "Oh, uh, just thinkin' 'bout the new Kablammo Man comic," he lied.

Gadget sighed; she knew the comic wasn't going to come out for another ten months—on top of the fact that Dale was a terrible liar. She really did want to know what he was thinking about, so she tried a different approach. She dropped the bright smile. "Ok, seriously. What's going on exactly?"

Dale was quiet for a moment. A huge part of him was uncomfortable telling any part of the story, especially since it was focused around Chip, but he knew Gadget really was a good friend and that she would possibly have some sort of comfort and maybe some guidance. "Well," he began. "I'm worried about Chip."

Gadget nodded. "Ok, why?"

Dale slumped even further in his seat. He closed his eyes, not sure if he was really ready to say what he was going to say next. "Gadget, Chip—well, he's in love with you."

The breath caught in Gadget's throat. If she hadn't have been flying the plane, she would have sat down. Well, at least, if she had been standing, she would have sat down. And if she'd been sitting . . . she stopped her run-on thoughts and tried to focus at what was now at hand.

Chip loved her. No, never mind, strike that. Chip was _in love_ with her. Totally different.

Gadget finally realized that Dale was crying. "Dale, what—what's wrong?" She tried to look over to him, but needed to keep her eyes ahead of her.

Dale wiped at his tears, embarrassed. "It's just that . . . well, I kinda like you too." He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "And I liked Clarice . . . a lot. But she liked Chip. And he liked her. Then they fell in love."

Gadget tried to bring her thoughts to bear. Ok, Chip was in love with her. Dale liked her . . . maybe loved her? But Dale had liked Clarice. So had Chip. Clarice chose Chip. So simple, yet so complicated! Gadget would take advanced Calculus over relationship advice any day.

Gadget landed the Wing, careful to land in a relatively camouflaged area. She just sat in the pilot's seat for a moment, trying once again to process the information. "So, Dale, what are you trying to say?"

He was almost hidden by his bulky coat. "_You_ deserve Chip. Not Clarice," he choked.

Gadget finally turned to him, a touch annoyed at his toying with her emotions. "Why are you telling me this?"

Dale's gaze met hers. "I don't trust Clarice. She did it once before, and she's not going to get the chance to do it again."

Gadget rolled her eyes in frustration. "Honestly, Dale, spit it out! What _really_ happened? I know you want to tell me."

Dale braced himself, and before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of him.

"It wasn't with Max. It was with me."

Gadget sat in stunned silence. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "You?" she finally whispered.

"Me." Dale's eyes closed in shame. His body trembled with unshed tears. "I can never tell him," he whimpered. "It was only two weeks after they got together. Clarice and I made a promise. We wouldn't tell him. She finally felt so guilty that she had to leave. I made up the story about her and Max. She really did go sing at his new club, though, and he's still her manager. I never thought she'd come back." Gadget had never seen Dale look so miserable. "Chip deserves better—a girl like you, and not a friend like me."

Gadget took Dale in her arms and gave him a comforting hug. Years of pent-up guilt came streaming out in Dale's tears. After a few minutes, Gadget pulled away, expectant questions in her eyes.

Dale shook his head violently. "No, Gadget. I can't."

Gadget's hopeful expression crumpled. "Dale, you can't keep living a lie."

Dale's words now bordered on confident. "I have for this long." He jumped out of the Wing, still wiping his tears. He glanced uncomfortably at Gadget, still sitting in the plane, his confidence failing. "Don't—don't say anything to Chip, please?"

Gadget took a deep breath. She had emotions of her own now invested in this, and was exceedingly uncomfortable. However, she nodded. She hopped out of her side and became all business. "Now, which room was Max's?"

As they made their way into the underground apartments, Dale tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, but couldn't.

_Dale sat sulking in the dressing room he shared with Chip. The show had gone well that night, but it had still been hard to concentrate. Ever since Clarice had been exclusively dating Chip, things were different on stage. Since the act hadn't been altered, Clarice was still seductively singing to the both of them, which unnerved Dale. For two weeks, he and Chip had not spoken beyond cold greetings and the necessary communication during rehearsal. He sighed and stared into the small mirror. Why did Chip get all the luck?_

_A soft tap on the door brought a smirk to his face. It was most likely Chip back to get something he had forgotten. He sat stiffly in his seat, waiting for Chip to enter, get whatever it was, and leave. The tap was repeated. Dale huffed, and finally answered the door. _

"_Cl-clarice!" he stuttered._

_Clarice demurely smiled at him. "May I come in?"_

_Dale, dumbstruck, nodded._

"_Do you mind if I sit?"_

_He nodded his head again, still silent and confused._

_Clarice sat delicately in one of the two chairs provided in the room. Dale chose to stand, staring curiously at the lovely chipmunk of his dreams. "Uh, what'd you need?" he asked._

_Clarice sighed and looked askance at the floor, failing to meet his questioning eyes. "I know things are hard, Dale."_

_He narrowed his eyes. "I don't know why it'd be hard for you. You and Chip are happy." He shrugged. "I guess the clown doesn't count."_

_Clarice now gazed into his eyes. "Oh, Dale, of course you do!" She stood and walked to him. "You know you still mean quite a bit to me."_

_Dale turned his back. "Funny way of showin' it."_

"_Please don't be like this." She put a hand on his shoulder. _

_Dale sniffled; he tried to hold it back, but there was no use. "Is it because I'm a dummy? That's what Chip says." He ground his teeth in order to keep from releasing a sob._

_Clarice gently but purposefully turned him around. "Certainly not! You know I don't think that!"_

_His eyes were filled with barely restrained tears. "Prove it," he muttered. _

Dale clenched his fists with the thought. How could he have been so stupid! Chip had been right all along; he _was_ a dummy. Why did he manipulate Clarice that night? And why did she have to go along with him? He tried to concentrate as Gadget and he inspected Max's apartment, but it was difficult—the memories wouldn't let him.

_Clarice's eyes were guilt stricken. "Dale, what are we going to do now?"_

"_Nothing." His cheeks red, he couldn't face her. _

_She folded her hands, staring at them. "I'm sorry."_

"_You love him."_

_She nodded, still looking intently at her clasped hands._

_A sorrowful, ragged sigh escaped Dale. "I'm no good at keeping secrets, Clarice."_

_She choked on a soft sob. "You can't tell him," she whispered, urgency coloring her words. "Please, please, Dale. You know it has to stay between us. If it ever comes down to it, just say it was someone else. You've been friends too long." She bit her lip. "Just tell him we talked and now you're ok." She winced, her voice cracking with immediate regret. "Please, let's just forget this ever happened."_

_Three and a half months later, Clarice and Chip were planning their wedding . . . ._


	5. On the Case

Monty wiped a drop of cheese sauce from his moustache and thanked the bartender, who refilled the small glass. Zipper buzzed/squeaked disapproval. Monty shrugged.

"It's just a wee nip, lad. 'Twon't do no harm." He leaned heavily on the well kept bar, balancing gently on his stool. "So," he started, conversationally, to the barkeep, "when was the last time ya saw your boss?"

The medium sized rat, Morris by name, casually polished a glass. "Ah, I guess it was yesterday afternoon." He shrugged. "Ol' Max came in to sign a few checks, and then, he went to his favorite restaurant."

Zipper buzzed and gestured. "/Which one/"

Morris paused in his polishing to think. "Sergei's. It's in the alley next door. Real classy place, too."

Monty threw a few mouse-sized coins on the bar. "Thanks, mate." The bartender nodded in acknowledgement. Monty and Zipper nodded to each other, and headed toward Sergei's.

Chip stood poised with pen and notepad in hand, Clarice looking on expectantly. This was the last employee to be questioned, and Chip wanted to get it over with. "So, you say that he was a good employer?"

The petite gerbil waitress nodded and popped her chewing gum. "Oh, sure. Everybody loved Max!" She casually leaned against a table, giving Chip a wink. "And I'm Stella, by the way." She stuck her hand out for Chip to shake. He smiled weakly and complied.

"Ah, nice to meet you, Stella." He flipped a page on his notepad. "And there hadn't been any fights lately? No one was mad at him over something?"

Stella popped her gum thoughtfully, then nodded. "Well, there was this one guy . . . but it was nothing."

Clarice saw Chip's suspicion meter rise. "_What_ was nothing?" he pressed.

Stella shrugged, just a little too nonchalantly. "Just some guy . . . can't remember his name, but he was wanting Max to partner up with him. Something about adding another singer or something." She shot a sickeningly sweet smile at Clarice. "Not that Max would replace you or anything."

Clarice gave her a withering glance. Chip mentally noted the exchange; envy was a strong emotion, and not something to be overlooked. If Stella wanted to be a headliner and had gotten a manager . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by Stella's obnoxious chewing gum. "Yes, well, if there's any chance that you remember the man's name, please let us know." He wrote the Rangers' e-mail address on a slip of notepad paper and handed it to Stella. He tipped his hat and tried to ignore Stella's parting wink. Something about her gave him the creeps. Chip could tell that Clarice was just oozing resentment of the lovely little gerbil, but he still felt a little uncomfortable speaking privately with her. He didn't know why he partnered with Clarice, except for the fact that Dale would obviously not want to work with her, and Monty and Zipper always worked so well together. He was mentally berating himself about why he didn't partner her with Gadget when she spoke.

"Chip? There's one more person you need to talk to about Max." She led him to a door adorned with a single gold star, the kind human children receive after a good grade. She opened it and ushered him in.

Chip walked in, in awe of the lush room. The Acorn Club had been remodeled since he had performed there, and this room was no exception. He had only been in this room once before, and there was simply no comparison to its former self. The walls were now lined with what had previously been a pink silk pillowcase. A large mirror edged with Christmas tree lights dominated one wall. A row of evening gowns lined another, some sequined, some simply chiffon, one or two silk. After firmly closing the door, Clarice curled up on a plush pink couch and motioned for Chip to join her. Reluctantly, he did so, but sat quite a distance away. He watched as she hugged her knees to her chest, almost childlike.

Clarice sighed deeply. "Max is my friend. Nothing more." Chip cocked an eyebrow, but allowed her to continue. "On the other hand, Max and Stella used to be . . . significant others." She grimaced.

Chip nodded, trying to be as professional as possible. "So you think she has something to do with his disappearance?" Clarice's worried eyes said everything. Although he was still having a difficult time trusting her, Chip could tell that Clarice was sincerely close to Max. Chip awkwardly patted Clarice's shoulder. "We'll find him."

She smiled softly. "Thank you." She looked away from Chip. "I hope this isn't too difficult for you."

Chip shifted awkwardly and adjusted his fedora. "Look, it's what we do." He gave her a tight smile before standing up and walking out of the room. Clarice opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself. Hanging her head slightly, she followed him into the hall. Chip pulled a make-shift walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and toggled the button. "Gadget?" he paged.

A crackle of static greeted his ears, then a perky female voice . . . but it was somehow a little strained. "Hi, Chip! How can I help you?"

"We got some information; I think Monty and Zipper got a clue, so they're off on their own. I figured we'd meet back at headquarters when you and Dale were finished."

"Sure! We'll be there in a jiff; the apartment search is done."

Chip smiled in satisfaction; he knew he could count on his comrades. "Alright; Clarice and I will start heading back in the Ranger Skate. I'm sure Monty and Zipper will fare alright."

He could almost hear Gadget's nod. "Good to hear, Chip; see you back at headquarters." The walkie-talkie chirped as Gadget terminated her end.

Chip pocketed the device and motioned for Clarice to follow him. They rode back to headquarters in silence, neither one even looking at each other. The silent tension heightened as Gadget and Dale joined them in the great room inside Ranger Headquarters.

Chip sank into the couch, intent on reviewing his notes. Clarice self-consciously took a seat at a side table near a window overlooking the park. Dale retreated somewhere into their home, most likely into the sanctuary of the room he shared with Chip. Gadget sat near Chip and handed him her painstaking notes about Max's apartment. He took them without looking up, a habit that Gadget always found slightly intimidating. When Chip took on a case, it was fairly typical for him to be obsessive about it; this would obviously be no exception.

Gadget sat back into a crook of the blue couch. She drank in the details of one of her closest friends. Tension pulled at the corner of his brown eyes, and his hat was pulled low on his forehead. After Dale's revelation earlier in the day, she couldn't help but look at Chip differently. She mentally kicked herself for staring, but she couldn't pull her eyes away. Her concentration was interrupted by Monty and Zipper excitedly coming through the door.

Zipper shook the snow from his wings and buzzed too quickly for the others to understand. Monty chuckled and translated. "I think we've got a lead, mates," he said confidently.

Chip pushed his hat further back on his head. "What kind of lead?"

"'Member that waitress you were questionin'? Well, the maitre 'd at Sergei's spotted her yesterday talkin' to Max, real intense like."

"Were they arguing?" asked Chip, flipping back through his notes to find Stella's interview.

Zipper nodded and buzzed/squeaked an affirmative.

"So, what now?" Clarice shakily murmured.

Chip scribbled something on his notepad and looked around at the others with a wry smile. "We ask Stella what she's holding back."

Clarice had to admit this was the most pleased Chip had looked since she had returned. True, it was a frightening kind of pleased, the kind that one wouldn't like if the pleasure was directed toward him or her, but at least it appeared to be an honest smile. Clarice smirked, feeling a tinge of pleasure herself at imagining the Rangers interrogate the nubile gerbil.

"Alright; who wants to come with me to question Stella again?" Chip stood and adjusted his coat lapels.

Monty shrugged. "I'd go, mate, but methinks Zip an' me'd better get some grub started for tonight."

Chip nodded curtly, then looked around. "Where's Dale?"

"/In his room/" Zipper motioned. "/I think./"

"Hmm." Chip scratched his head with his pencil stub. "Gadget?"

Gadget began to say no, but changed her mind. "Uh, sure, Chip!" She retrieved her coat from the closet. She felt penetrating eyes on her back. Turning, she saw Clarice staring almost blankly at her. Gadget felt a cold chill of awkwardness trickle down her spine. "Um, Clarice? Would you like to join us?"

"No," Chip blurted out. The two women looked at him, both slightly surprised. "Er," he stuttered, his cheeks reddening, "I think Clarice would just keep Stella from talking. The jealousy factor," he added.

Clarice's face fell and she nodded solemnly. "Fine," she mumbled. "I'll just look over my songs while you're gone." She sat back down in her seat by the window, taking sheet music from her satchel and spreading it across the table. She lowered her head to hide her embarrassment from the whole situation. The rest of the team was silent as Chip and Gadget made their way to the Ranger Wing in the late afternoon light.

Once outside, Gadget sneaked a sidelong glance at Chip. He'd pulled his hat down low again, shielding himself from the February winds. His jaw was set firmly, his eyes glistening. She tried to keep a worried look from shadowing her own face, but was unsuccessful. Gadget put her mind to work on other tasks, such as starting the aircraft and making take off as smoothly as possible against the chilly gusts. Once in the air, she struggled with her own conflicting feelings. Should she ask him? As much as she wanted to discuss issues with the brooding chipmunk, her heart told her this was neither the time nor the place. Her attention was caught by the faint sound of Chip's voice over the noise of the engine.

"So I guess you know everything."

Gadget blushed, recalling Dale's confession. "Um, yeah." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "Actually, Clarice told us most of what happened."

Chip nodded, looking away. "I figured." His throat constricted, causing his words to sound hoarse.

Gadget adjusted her goggles, trying to decide if Chip wanted to talk or not. Chip's last words hung between them, seemingly waiting for more. Gadget just listened to the roar of the plane for a minute, growing more and more uncomfortable. Finally, she couldn't help it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She winced; her words sounded harsher than she wanted. She mentally kicked herself when she glanced over and saw Chip's eyes. /_Us_/ she chided herself/I meant to say _us_./

Chip stared at his hands, folded in his lap. He took a deep breath, pondering how to phrase his answer. "I—I guess I had decided it was over and done." He closed his eyes. "Have you ever been rejected?"

Gadget felt tears stinging her eyes from beneath her flight goggles. "No," she answered simply. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "I haven't even been in a real relationship," she admitted. "I mean, I've been in relationships, but not a romantic relationship."

Chip's eyes were still closed. "I never thought I'd get over her, Gadget. Dale was the one who helped me through after . . . ." He trailed off, unable to finish his thought. "Anyway, two years later, we were hanging out with Plato, learning the tricks of the trade. I'd never thought about being a detective until then. And of course, we met Monty, and Zipper, and . . . you." He now opened his eyes and looked in her direction.

Gadget did her best to focus on flying and not meet his gaze. She nodded to acknowledge his answer to her. The pair was silent for a few moments more before Gadget dared to ask her next question.

"_Are_ you over her?"

"What?"

Gadget felt even the tips of her ears burning. "Did you ever get over her?" She swallowed, trying to dispel the lump forming in her throat. "I mean, you said you thought you'd never . . . ." Gadget trailed off. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not even looking over to Chip.

"Don't be." Chip slumped in his seat, tears burning the back of his eyes. He had opened the door to this conversation. He felt distinctly ill at the question. Incapable of answering Gadget, he pushed the answer deep into his heart. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally cleared his throat. "So, do you think we should let Stella know we're on to her?"

Gadget quietly sighed with relief at the change of subject. The conversation lapsed into small talk about the case for the remainder of the short flight.


	6. Interviews and Interludes

Chip sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Stella sat pouting from across the table from him and Gadget. "One more time, Stella." He twitched, trying to keep his temper from getting the better of time. "I'm going to ask you if you were arguing with Max yesterday."

"One more time, _detective_," she spoke through clenched teeth, "that's none of your business." She popped her chewing gum loudly, causing both Rangers to flinch with irritation.

Gadget decided to take a softer approach. "Um, Ms. Stella, we heard that you and Max were significant others at one point."

Stella sniffed haughtily. "Yeah. So?"

Gadget looked to Chip for advice; Stella wasn't taking the bait. Chip just threw her a telling glance. Gadget shifted in her seat and decided to use some tactics from one of Chip's favorite TV shows—"Paw and Order."

"Well," Gadget reasoned, "if Max was maybe trying to get you back, or was trying to ask you out, or . . . wait, I guess that's the same thing. Hm. Never mind. Anyway, maybe you had a reason to argue with Max. If you got into an argument, and something happened and it wasn't your fault and—"

Stella waved her hands in the air to stop Gadget's ramblings. "Ok, fine. Max and I talked. Maybe a little too loudly. But it was just a conversation, alright? Sheesh." She sighed dramatically and propped her head on one arm, staring at Chip with cold eyes.

Chip was finished with the tiptoeing around the issue. This questioning had gone on far too long for his taste. "Ok. We know that you lied about seeing Max arguing with another man. Stella—do you want to be a headliner here at the club?"

Gadget didn't think that Stella's eyes could get any fiercer, but she was surprised. Stella became a very different person than Chip had met earlier in the day. "I was promised an act," she hissed. "Max told me I was just as good as _Clarice_. I could sing that 'munk under the table and then some."

"Where is he, Stella?" Chip pressed. He was leaning forward, nearly over the table.

Gadget winced as Stella told Chip what he could do and where he could go. Chip just rolled his eyes.

"I think we're done here." Chip pushed himself away from the table, stood, and stalked out the door, leaving a very surprised suspect and partner. Gadget threw a glance toward the first shocked, then visibly smug waitress.

"Chip? Wait up!" Gadget hurriedly followed him outside of the club. She caught him by the hem of his jacket, slowing his gait. "What are we doing now?" Chip didn't answer her, but kept walking, his head slightly lowered. Finally, she yanked on the hem and turned him fully around. "What's going on?"

Chip's eyes were dull, disheartened. "I don't know if I can do this, Gadget."

"What are you talking about?"

"This stupid case!" Chip threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Clarice, Max, Stella—none of them are truly bad people. But they all have their motives." Gadget furrowed her brow in confusion as Chip continued. "Take Clarice—she's talented, beautiful . . . but she doesn't enjoy sharing the limelight. I don't even know Max—but he's obviously stubborn and a little too dedicated to Clarice. And," Chip added, "he seems to be a double talker if what Stella says is true." He sighed. "And frankly, I believe her. And that brings me to Stella. She's obnoxious, conniving, and maybe even talented. If anything, her looks will eventually get her somewhere. She thinks she's been promised something, but whatever it was, it was ripped out from under her." Chip gritted his teeth. "Part of me doesn't blame her for whatever she's done."

Gadget shook her head. "Chip, I know you're hurt. But we've got a job to do!" A twinge of uncomfortable pain seared her heart; she squashed it with her sensibilities. "Clarice is counting on us—she's a client. And what about Max? Who knows what Stella has done to him?" She felt herself tearing up.

Chip sighed. He saw the tears glittering and became very angry with himself; he knew she was right. With a defeated gaze, he turned back toward the club's entrance. It was going to be a long evening.

Three hours later, the tired pair trudged into headquarters. Zipper squeaked a number of questions, too fast for Chip to follow. "In a minute, Zip," he muttered. "Does Monty have any supper left?"

Zipper nodded enthusiastically. He led the two into the kitchen, hoping to hear details. Gadget and Chip sank gratefully into chairs around the table, hungrily eying the cheese chowder that Monty was scooping into bowls. Chip took two big bites before saying anything.

"The APF has come in on our side. I talked to McDugell tonight, and they're going to hold Stella at their facility until she starts giving us answers."

"Ya mean she didn't tell you anything?" Monty was stunned. "Ya spent four hours with the shelia."

Gadget nodded, swallowing her bite. "I know. That's why we had to make the call to McDugell." She shook her head with disgust as she stirred her chowder. "I can't understand how people can be so . . . two-faced." Realizing what she had said, she tried not to blush, but she could tell her cheeks were rosy. Fortunately, Chip was too preoccupied with his belated dinner to notice her discomfort. He simply nodded his agreement as he scraped the bottom of his bowl.

"Thanks, Monty." He placed the empty bowl and utensils in the sink, gave Gadget, Monty, and Zipper a weak smile, then tiredly padded into the main living area.

As Chip entered the room, a distant, not unfamiliar sound found his ears. As though drawn by it, he followed the sound until he found the source. He finally lingered in the doorway of a little used room in Ranger Headquarters as he drank in the still well-known melodic tones. The song was recognizable, but much slower than he remembered.

"Love me or leave me, let me be lonely;

you won't believe me, and I love you only.

I'd rather be lonely than happy with someone else."

Chip hedged his way carefully into the room. The lights were dim, but they perfectly silhouetted the figure of Clarice. Her voice continued the song.

"You might find the night time, the right time for kissin',

but night time is my time for just reminiscin',

regrettin' instead of forgettin' with somebody else."

His fingers found the dusty piano keys as though they had never been parted. The soft, still-tuned chords joined with Clarice's clear soprano voice.

"There'll be no one unless that someone is you,

I intend to be independently blue.

I want your love, but I don't want to borrow,

to have it today, and to give it back tomorrow,

for my love is your love, there's no love for nobody else."

Chip allowed the final chord's notes to linger for a long moment. He spoke quietly, trying not to dispel the beauty of the moment. "Doris Day, 1955."

She nodded, a little embarrassed. "It's—it's one of my songs for my comeback at the Acorn Club." She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't have time to play anymore."

Chip smirked and swiped at the dust still clinging to the black and white keys. "I don't." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I haven't played that song in a very long time." His eyes were misty; he coughed a little to hide it. "The dust," he explained. He knew it sounded lame, but he was trying not to focus on the former love of his life singing a poignant love song that he used to play for her. He cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to rehearsing." He stood, but she gently put a hand on his shoulder. A tender but firm push and Chip sat back down on the piano bench. She sat next to him, as far away as the length of the bench would allow.

"Play for me? Please?"

Chip sighed and rubbed his eyes. He began to play one of his favorite songs that had been recorded by so many famous artists . . . but he never thought that even one of them could capture it like Sinatra. He began to relax as his fingers found the notes and his voice blended in with the lyrics.

"When the sun is high  
in the afternoon sky,  
you can always find something to do.  
But from dusk 'til dawn  
as the clock ticks on,  
something happens to you.

In the wee small hours of the morning,  
while the whole wide world is fast asleep,  
you lie awake and you think about the girl,  
and never ever think of counting sheep.  
When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,  
you'd be hers if only she would call . . . .  
In the wee small hours of the morning,  
that's the time you miss her most of all."

The piano plaintively sang for a brief interlude before Chip's voice, slightly shaking, returned hauntingly.

"When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,  
you'd be hers if only she would call . . . .  
In the wee small hours of the morning,   
that's the time you miss her most of all."

After the final note, Chip abruptly stood from the piano bench too quickly for Clarice to stop him. "I can't," he choked. He stepped back so she couldn't reach for him. "I can't," he kept repeating.

Clarice's eyes were sad, watery. "I'm sorry," she murmured. She simply kept her seat at the piano as Chip silently fled the room. Her tears splashed down onto the lower octave of the instrument, creating wet spots in the remaining dust.

In the hall, Gadget silently watched Chip hurry from the room and disappear into the recesses of headquarters. Gadget's head fell, tears trickling down her cheeks.


	7. Confessions

Somewhere around midnight, Dale heard the sound of the door opening. He hadn't been able to sleep; thoughts of the past had been haunting him all evening. He pushed himself up on one arm to greet his best friend with some questions about the case. All of his questions dissolved as his stomach churned at the sight of Chip—he was a wreck. "Hey," Dale finally said in a low, barely audible voice.

Chip didn't respond; he merely sat heavily on the bottom bunk. "Why?" he whispered, his voice unnatural.

Dale furrowed his brow. "Huh?" He felt the bunks sway as Chip shifted on his bed. Dale debated sticking his head over the bunk to actually see his friend as they talked, but something in Chip's tone told him that he didn't really want to be face to face at the moment.

"I trusted you."

Dale's blood ran cold. "Wh-what?"

"You were my friend."

"Chip, I—"

"What were you thinking?" Chip pulled himself up and began to slowly pace. "I mean, I know you were in love with her too." He stopped and slapped his forehead. "How could I be so stupid?"

Dale just remained frozen on his bed. Chip knew. This was bad . . . very bad. How did he find out? Of course—Gadget. His mind was racing and he felt as though his heart would jump out of his chest. At this point, was there anything that he could say? "I—I'm sorry," was all he could whimper.

Chip gave a short, derisive laugh in reply. "Right."

"So . . . Gadget told you?"

The color drained from under Chip's fur. "No—Clarice finally told me the truth . . . Gadget knows?" he whispered in horror. "This is just great. Now she knows that I'm a colossal fool who was not only betrayed by the woman I loved but by my best friend as well." He threw his fedora on the floor in despair and walked out.

Dale stared after Chip, his heart still pounding. Everything had just come crashing down, and he had no clue as to how he could fix this—or if it even could be fixed. Shaking, he lay back down on his bed, hoping and praying that not all was lost. Maybe, somehow, he could think of the right thing to say . . . . A solitary tear ran down his cheek as he thought about the pain he had caused his oldest friend.

Chip withdrew into the room with the piano once again. The room was now empty, leaving him alone with the instrument and his thoughts. He sat on the hard bench, his head held in his hands. "I'm such an idiot," he mumbled into his hands. He pressed hard on his eyes to keep his tears from falling. A hand on his shoulder finally caused him to look up. "Monty?"

Monterey Jack stood over the chipmunk, concern in his green eyes. "Gadget told me I'd probably find ya here. I figured ya might need a mate to talk to right about now."

Chip sighed deeply, swallowing his tears. "Thanks, Monty. But I know it's late, and—"

Monty shook his head firmly. "No 'buts,' lad." He leaned against the wall and gave Chip a lopsided smile. "Ol' Monty's had his share of run-ins with the female of the species. And before ya ask, Gadget told me and Zipper everything."

Chip dropped his head with a groan. "So I guess everyone knows that I'm a trusting moron."

Monty's expression became stern. "Look, Chippah. I'm sure ya remember Desiree. We both know that women are more complicated that they look." He softened. "Come on, pally—ya need to talk to someone."

Chip rubbed his forehead, trying to work some of the painful tension from it. Taking a ragged breath, he began to tell Monterey the origins of the fateful love triangle.

Dale sat up quickly as he heard his door open again. He tentatively leaned over the rail of his bunk to see Gadget poking her head into the room, her expression a little timid. "Um, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Dale nodded, then climbed down. He motioned for Gadget to take the chair from the bureau as he sat on Chip's bed. He sat stiffly, solemnly, waiting for her to start. At this point, he couldn't even form a greeting for the lovely mouse.

Gadget took the initiative. "So, you know that Chip knows, huh?"

Dale bit his lip. "I really never thought he'd find out." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gadget—I thought _you_ told him."

Gadget smiled sympathetically. "It's ok." She cleared her throat, obviously ill at ease. "Actually, I talked to Clarice tonight. That's why she went and talked to Chip."

"What did you say?" Dale's curiosity was piqued; he didn't know why he felt he needed to hear what Gadget and Clarice discussed, but he knew his mind wouldn't let him rest if she didn't tell him.

Gadget looked away, but started to retell her conversation; it was in a typically slightly rambling form, so Dale allowed his mind to envision their dialogue.

_Gadget cautiously peered around the doorframe. Clarice sat unmoving on the piano bench, staring blankly at the keys. She was no longer crying; sheet music lay scattered about on the floor. Gadget gradually made her way over to Clarice and sat down beside her._

_Clarice didn't look up but spoke softly. "I'm a bad person."_

_Gadget's heart went out to the lovely singer and she put a gentle hand on Clarice's shoulder. "No, you're not."_

"_You have no idea what I've done."_

_Gadget hesitated before responding. "Yes—yes, I do."_

_Clarice still did not face Gadget, but her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened in understanding. "Dale."_

_Gadget just nodded. "He told me when we went to look for Max." She swallowed hard in the few moments of uncomfortable silence. Finally, she had to ask. "Do you still-"_

"_Love Chip?" finished Clarice. She laughed humorlessly. "I'm sure you'd like to know." Her tone was bordering on cynical._

_Gadget blanched. "Clarice, Dale just told me today that Chip has had feelings for me. I haven't had time to decide exactly how I feel about him."_

_Clarice finally raised her head to look into Gadget's eyes. "If you have to take too much time to think about something like that, then maybe you shouldn't bother."_

"_What do you mean?"_

_Clarice stared at Gadget, incredulous. "I mean, if you can't make up your mind, then maybe your feelings aren't as strong as you think they might be." She looked away. "And it might turn out for the better."_

_Gadget had to ponder this for a minute. "Well, we've been friends for years now. Neither of us has made any 'moves' toward the other. I mean, we've flirted, I guess, but I've flirted with Dale too."_

_Clarice nodded, now softening a bit toward the naïve mouse. "Honey, I made that mistake too. Look," she stared Gadget dead in the eyes, "you need to know this." She took a shuddery intake of breath. "I still love Chip. I never stopped loving him. I don't know why I did what I did . . . and I know I don't deserve his love back. But if you decide that there is something more between the two of you and if he wants to return it—" Clarice broke off, her voice cracking a little. Regaining her composure, she continued. "Then he's all yours."_

_Gadget was a little taken aback by Clarice's declaration of love. She stared at earnest at Clarice, her exceedingly high I.Q. working as fast as possible—and fortunately, this time, on the emotional side. "Go talk to him," she urged. "Please."_

_Clarice's poise crumbled. "Oh, Gadget," she whispered in near fright. "I can't tell him—I mean, Dale and I—we promised each other . . . ."_

_Gadget shook her head firmly. "I know I'm better with machines than people most of the time, but I think you two need to talk some of these things out." She took Clarice into a friendly, almost sisterly hug._

Gadget still couldn't meet Dale's eyes. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you first. I guess we kinda left that part out."

Dale hung his head. "Aw, it's ok." He sat very quietly for a moment. "Do . . . do you love Chip?" His words were tearful.

Gadget didn't speak at first, but when she spoke, her words were crisp. "I couldn't answer Clarice. I can't answer you. I don't think I know the answer." She moved the chair closer to the bed, taking Dale's hands in hers. "Dale—I'm sorry if I've ever hurt you."

Dale looked puzzled. "Gadget, I know your inventions don't always work, but-"

"No, Dale." Gadget shook her head, a slight smile forming. "I mean that I hope I haven't hurt your feelings."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I've said some mean things sometimes too."

Gadget sighed. "I also hope I haven't . . . led you on, or anything. I just don't really know what it's like to be in love, I think." She grimaced.

The pair sat quietly in the stillness as the clock struck one.


	8. Realizations

Early morning light filtered through the windows of headquarters. Chip stretched his aching bones, only to realize he had fallen asleep on the couch. Shaking the sleepy feeling from his mind, he stood and stretched more deeply. He began to make his way to the bathroom to wash up, but stopped in his tracks when he reached the hallway.

Clarice stopped in the middle of the hall, clad in a satiny light blue robe. Her cheeks flushed, and she stuttered a bit as she spoke. "I—I was just going to take a shower. Um, Zipper and I went last night to get a few of my things from the club . . . I hope you don't mind."

_/Of course I mind/_ his mind screamed. Outwardly, he managed a civil tone. "I'm sure everyone will be fine with you staying here."

"Well, Gadget was the one who suggested it." She pulled her robe more tightly around her. "She was worried about me being by myself."

Chip nodded, trying to stay cool. "Gadget's always looking out for others."

Clarice tried to smile, but couldn't make herself. To complete the conversation, she quickly slipped into the bathroom, leaving Chip to wallow in his own self-doubt about his feelings for the two women in his life. He made his way into the bedroom to don a light sweatshirt. Maybe a short jog would clear his senses.

Dale was snoring on the top bunk. The sound was grating to Chip's ears; he changed as rapidly as possible and left. Once outside, he allowed the brisk winds fill his lungs as he gently warmed his muscles. As he jogged and jumped from tree limb to tree limb, his mind wandered. He kept thinking about what Clarice had told him last night; he knew he would not forget her words as long as he lived.

"_Dale and I . . . I'm so sorry, Chip."_

She didn't need to go into detail. He had sat in stony silence as she sobbed out her mistakes. He was too shocked to even shed a tear. Now, as his feet pounded the bark beneath him, anger rose into his throat. It wasn't fair of her! Why did she have to come back and ruin everything? He'd been fine . . . he'd been fine . . . he'd been . . . .

He collapsed on the tree limb. Curling up in a fetal position, the wind cutting through his fur to his very core, he cried—really cried. Chip—the leader, the logical one, the control freak—fell apart on a solitary branch. He had squelched his pain, his anger, his fear for so long. Striking out at Dale, his best friend, had never eased his inner ache. Perhaps, somehow, he'd had a subconscious knowing about Clarice and Dale. The thought of his once-fiancée and dearest friend almost made him retch. He hiccupped loudly; he couldn't remember the last time he had cried like a child. After a few minutes, the tears began to subside. He pulled himself from his curled up position and sat on the limb, staring down into the snow-covered park. From his vantage point, he saw small human children, probably a brother and sister, working together to make a snowman. A husband and wife, the children's parents, sat snuggled together on a bench. As they watched their progeny, the parents whispered and laughed, sharing inside jokes and little intimate secrets with each other as they had a few precious moments in solitude.

Chip's mind drifted as he watched the human interaction below. What would it be like? To have someone with whom he could share everything with—his desires, his fears? To one day have children—to ponder with his mate over which child had whose nose or eyes? To have a normal job . . . or at least a job where he wouldn't have to worry that he was going to die that day by Fat Cat's fangs or Nimnul's explosions? He was lost in his reverie as someone settled close beside him.

"It could still happen," a voice whispered in his ear.

Chip turned in surprise and found himself nose to nose with Clarice. "What-?"

His inquiry was cut short. His eyes widened as Clarice kissed him, ever so tenderly. When she pulled away, he stared at her in disbelief. Clarice peered into his dark brown eyes and took one of his hands in hers.

"I still love you, Chip," she murmured.

His lips trembled as he gazed back at her. "Clarice, I don't know what to say."

She snuggled against him, closing her eyes. "You don't have to say anything. I know you're in love with Gadget."

Chip stiffened. "Clarice, I don't think this is the right time or place to talk about this."

"I don't care." She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I just want this moment for us. The way we used to be." She looked up at Chip. "Relax."

"Is that what you said to Dale that night?"

Clarice pulled away, her face looking as though she'd been slapped. "I didn't follow you to fight."

Chip struggled to his feet. "What did you come out here to do? Lure me into loving you again, just to be thrown away like garbage?" His voice rose. "I don't understand you, Clarice. One minute you're like an innocent little girl, and the next, you're telling me you love me and you want things to go back the way they were. Well, I've got news for you, and I hope you listen very carefully. Things can't be that simple. I'm a different person now. I live a different life. No more carefree attitude, no more falling for just a pretty face." He turned his back to her. "You said it before—you don't know me anymore. You've only been here a day! I don't know what you want from me. All you've done is turn my life upside down and inside out."

Clarice stood, coming up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Chip. I've told you everything. I came clean about what happened. I just . . . I just want to know if you forgive me." She gave a whisper of a sigh. "I don't know what else to do."

Chip whirled around, startling her. "Leave me alone—let me finish this case. Let me go on with my life!" He stormed off, breaking into a fast jog, leaving Clarice alone with the laughter of the children below ringing in her ears.

Chip arrived back at headquarters about an hour later. He was tired, sweaty, and drained. He practically stumbled into his home and headed straight for the shower. As the hot water hit his fur, he permitted a few tears to join the water trickling down his face. A knock on the door jolted him out of his feeling sorry for himself. "What do you need?" he yelled over the shower.

"Um, Chip? It's Gadget." Chip could tell she was blushing just being outside the door.

"What is it?"

"Was Clarice with you? She hasn't come back in, and we're getting worried."

Chip cursed under his breath. Great. "Uh, no—hang on a minute." He turned off the shower, towel dried himself, and slipped back into his sweaty shirt. He opened the door quickly, alarming Gadget. He found it very difficult to meet her eyes. They were so very blue, crystalline . . . .

"Chip?" Gadget gave him a little shake. "Where's Clarice?"

"I don't know." Chip forced himself to look at Gadget. "She followed me . . . and we talked." Gadget raised an eyebrow. "Ok, ok, we argued." Chip crossed his arms defensively. "She wanted me to _relax_." Something about that word made both blush a little. "I took off and left her there." He slapped a hand on his forehead. "I'm so stupid," he muttered.

Gadget patted him on the back. "It's ok; I'll go look for her." The two stood in a very strained silence for a minute, looking into one another's eyes. The sound of a door opening up the hall forced them to go their separate ways. Gadget threw on her coat and scarf and hurried out of headquarters to seek Clarice.

Chip retired to his room to change into his jacket. He noticed that Dale was no longer snoring in the top bunk, and he breathed a sigh of relief at being alone. Once the door was closed, he grabbed a jacket out of his closet, threw the sweatshirt in a hamper, and sank down on his bed. He was motionless for a moment, then reached into an interior pocket. He withdrew a clean, crisp picture of Gadget. He laid it beside him and reached back into the coat. Another picture, this one faded and cracked, was retrieved. He began to weep. "What have I done?" he whimpered. He clutched the photograph in his hands and stared at the worn image. Two cheery faces stared back at him, frozen in historic happiness. He simply could not tear his gaze away from his own engagement picture. Could Clarice have been right? Could he have a chance at a real relationship again?

Chip looked up through his watery eyes to see Zipper hovering in the doorway. "Oh, hey, Zip," he said, trying to sound a little upbeat. Zipper smiled apologetically and gestured toward the main living area.

"/Someone's here to see you/" he squeaked.

"Thanks." Chip wiped his eyes and hastily shoved the photos back into his pocket. He cleared his throat and slowly made his way into the living room.

McDugell stood solemnly in his overcoat, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Seeing Chip, he raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything about Chip's reddened eyes. "I just wanted to let you know that Stella cracked this morning."

Chip brightened noticeably at this information. "Did she tell you where Max is?"

McDugell smiled. "He's back at the precinct now."

If Chip was disappointed at not getting Max back himself, one couldn't tell. He reached out to shake the squirrel's hand. "Thanks for your help. I'm just glad this thing is over."

"What's over?" Dale entered from the kitchen and stood in the doorway.

Chip's smiled faded a little at the sight of Dale, but was only too glad to tell him the news. "Max Travinski's back safe and sound at APF headquarters."

Dale furrowed his brow. "So . . . the case is solved?"

McDugell nodded as he exchanged glances with Chip. "Is that all you needed?"

Chip smiled and opened the door for McDugell. "Yeah, thanks for everything." McDugell tipped his hat and started down the tree. Chip closed the door with a sigh and a heavy heart. He looked back to see Dale still in the doorway and began to walk in the other direction.

"Hey."

Chip slowly turned around to face his long time friend . . . and competition. "What?"

Dale shifted from foot to foot, his expression ashamed. "I, uh, I'm sorry."

Chip snorted. "Right." He wheeled around and marched out onto the back veranda before Dale could say anything more. Light snow whisked by him, stinging his eyes. Chip stayed outside until he couldn't feel his toes. Deep down, he hoped that Gadget and Clarice would return soon.


	9. Onstage and Backstage

"Clarice?"

Clarice glanced up from her seat on the tree limb only to see a familiar blond mouse waving to her. She ignored her and continued to watch the children below engaged in a snowball fight.

Gadget settled down beside her, slightly out of breath. "We were getting worried, so I decided to come look for you."

"Thanks." Clarice smiled a very tiny smile, but it soon disappeared. "Do you think Chip will even come to my show tonight?"

Gadget shrugged. "I don't know, Clarice. Why wouldn't he?"

She dropped her head. "I think I messed everything up again."

"Give Chip a chance. He's just trying to figure things out."

"You know him pretty well, huh?"

"Well," Gadget chuckled, "not as well as I'd hoped." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "I certainly didn't get the vibe that he was _in love_ with me." Gadget didn't know why, but she didn't feel strange about talking about Chip's feelings about her with Clarice.

Clarice managed a weak grin. "I never had a problem—he was always so straightforward, no nonsense about it."

"He's like that about most things," Gadget agreed. "But not so much with his feelings. Except when he gets mad or frustrated," she added.

"That's obvious." Clarice smirked.

"He didn't mean to hurt you."

"And I didn't mean to hurt him."

Gadget stood and offered a hand to Clarice, who reluctantly accepted. "Let's go back and see what we need to do for today. Maybe there's been another lead." Shivering against the snowy gusts, the ladies trudged back to the warmth of headquarters.

They were greeted with hot chocolate and good news from Monty. Clarice almost jumped for joy when she heard that her manager was safe and sound and that Stella had been detained within the APF facility until a trial could be held.

"I guess I'd better get my music together; I'm sure Max will want to go over some songs before tonight's performance." Clarice risked a miniscule smile in Chip's direction which he refused to acknowledge. "Um, thank you all—what do I need to pay you?"

"Crikey, luv, don't worry 'bout it. Complimentary tickets to your big show tonight will do the trick." Monty winked, causing Clarice to redden slightly.

"Well, of course! You're all invited to the Acorn Club tonight. Eight o'clock sharp." She pasted a big smile on her face, then hurried to pack up her sheet music and additional belongings from the other room.

Before she left, she managed to catch Chip alone. He just stared at her, his gaze lifeless. "Chip, I really hope you can make it tonight."

He nodded, once. "I'll see if I can be there. No promises, though."

Her expression fell. "Sure. I understand." She edged away, hoping he would say something more, but he was still just staring at her with seemingly nothing in his eyes. "Thanks again." When he didn't offer anything else, she slipped out the door.

Clarice was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when a tap at the door startled her. She finished applying her lipstick, made sure her dressing gown was securely fastened, and then cracked open the door. A messenger boy held a bouquet of soft pink tea roses and read from a card. "Um, Miss Clarice?"

She nodded, opening the door further. He slipped inside, set the large, fragrant bouquet on an elaborately carved table next to her dressing bureau, and then waved a silent but respectful goodbye. She opened the card, her heart thumping with anticipation—Chip had sent her roses like these once . . . . Her hopes sank. The Rescue Ranger symbol was all that was imprinted in the card. She tossed it onto her bureau, trying not to feel too discouraged. Another knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.

"Clarice? Ten minutes."

"Thanks, Max." It was good to have him back. Although there had never been anything between the two of them, he had always given her a sense of security about her performances. She checked to make sure none of her makeup was smudged and ran a hand through her head fur before shimmying into her lavender gown. She watched her reflection in her three-way mirror, enjoying the sparkle from the intricately sewn sequins. Smoothing her hands over her hips, she gave the mirror a seductive smile and a wink.

"Five minutes!"

"Thank you!" Clarice misted herself with her favorite perfume, which, ironically enough smelled similar to the tea roses on the table. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and getting into performing mode. Throwing her shoulders back, she strutted out her dressing room door and stood in the wings of the stage as she heard the band being announced.

There was the drum roll, and Max speaking into the microphone. "And now, the lady you've all been waiting for . . . Clarice returns!"

The band struck up a vamp, and Clarice sashayed onto the stage to thunderous applause. "Thanks, boys," she cooed. "You know, I've wanted to come back to this club for a long time; it's where I made my big break." A few appreciative catcalls from the audience distracted her momentarily. She blew a kiss and waved, the lights so bright that there was no way to see who whistled. "So," she continued, "I figure I'll start with one of my original and most loved numbers. Hit it, boys!"

"My Destiny" began to play behind her. She swayed and crooned, really feeling the part of the girl that everyone adores. She added a few embellishments here and there, but stayed true to the song. To sing it as she once had brought back too many memories that she just couldn't handle on this night.

"My destiny is to be in love with you;

Makes no difference what you say or do—

I must stay in love with you . . .

That's my destiny;

It's the thing you can't control—

I belong to you both heart and soul

With a love beyond control!

They say nothing is sure;

Even the sea runs dry.

They're wrong, one thing is sure—

Love like mine can never die.

That's how it is,

And that's how it has to be—

You are everything in life to me . . .

You are my destiny!"

As she hit her last note, the audience cheered and clapped, hooting for more.

More classic nightclub songs followed, including the poignant Doris Day hit "Love Me or Leave Me," "New York, New York," "42nd Street," and "You're the Top." The latter song was a particular favorite, though still a touch bittersweet as she thought about the lyrics while she sang.

"At words poetic, I'm so pathetic

That I always have found it best

Instead of getting it off my chest,

To let 'em rest unexpressed.

I hate parading my serenading

As I'll probably miss a bar,

But if this ditty is not so pretty,

At least it'll tell you how great you are!"

At each chorus, she would cheekily point to a spot in the audience where her instincts told her was a drooling, ogling "fanboy."

"You're the top—you're the Coliseum.

You're the top—mmm,­ you're the Louvre museum.

You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss.

You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet, you're Mickey Mouse.

You're the Nile—you're the tower of Pisa.

You're the smile—on the Mona Lisa.

I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop.

But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top.

You're the top, you're Mahatma Gandhi.

You're the top—you are Napoleon brandy.

You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain.

You're the National Gallery,

You're Garbo's salary, you're cellophane.

You are sublime, you're a turkey dinner.

You're the time—the time of the Derby winner.

I'm a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop.

But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top, top!

You're the top—mmm, you're a Waldorf salad—

Oh no, no let me say it—

You're the top—you're a Berlin ballad.

You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire!

You're an O'Neill drama; you're Whistler's Mother—

You're Camembert.

You're a rose, you're _Inferno_'s Dante.

But if baby I'm the bottom,

'Cause if baby I'm the bottom,

You're the top!"

As she neared the end of her act, she kept trying to peer through the lights to see her admiring audience. There was a particular face she had been trying to spot, but it was nearly impossible through the blinding brightness. Finally, for her last number, the lights dimmed a bit, helping her vision considerably. She was able to find the table with the Rescue Rangers—she noticed that Dale even attended—but Chip was conspicuously absent. She flashed them a bright smile and a wink in gratitude for coming; Max had personally told them they were welcome anytime, free of charge, with all drinks and snacks on the house. The music slowed into gentle piano arpeggios as Clarice began her closing.

"Well, fellas, I guess the night's coming to an end." She paused for about two seconds while the crowd verbally displayed its quiet disappointment. "But just remember—I'll be here for many more nights to come." She lowered her voice, almost conspiratorially. "I think I'm back to stay!" The audience cheered softly, already taken in by the subtle tones of the final song's piano intro. "And, if any of _you_ ever leave—" she pointed into the audience, "just know . . .

"You can reach me by railway;  
You can reach me by trail way;  
You can reach me on an airplane;  
You can reach me with your mind.  
You can reach me by caravan;  
Cross the desert like an Arab man;  
I don't care how you get here—  
Just get here if you can.

You can reach me by sailboat;  
Climb a tree and swing rope to rope;  
Take a sled and slide down slope;  
Into these arms of mine.  
You can jump on a speedy colt;  
Cross the border in a blaze of hope;  
I don't care how you get here—  
Just get here if you can.

There are hills and mountains between us—  
Always something to get over.  
If I had the way,  
Surely you'd be closer . . .  
I need you closer . . . .

You can windsurf into my life;  
Take me up on a carpet ride;  
You can make it in a big balloon—  
But you'd better make it soon . . . .

You can reach me by caravan;  
Cross the desert like an Arab man;  
I don't care how you get here—  
Just get here if you can."

Tears began to fill her eyes as her eyes adjusted to the lights and she finally saw a lone figure at a table in the far left corner of the club.

"I don't care, I don't care—  
I need you right here right now,  
I need you right here right now right by my side, yeah,  
I don't care how you get here . . .  
Just get here if you can."

On her final word, the lights blacked out completely, insuring Clarice a quick and dramatic exit. Once offstage, she found herself shaking so violently that a stagehand asked if she was alright. She thrust her way to her dressing room, ignoring the calls of congratulations from band members and techies. Clarice hurriedly shut the door firmly behind her, indifferent to how rude she appeared. Laying her forehead and hands against the door, she heaved silent sobs. She couldn't remember crying so much in a two day span . . . well, since she left Hawaii those many years ago. Chip's words returned to haunt her.

"_What did you come out here to do?"_

She slipped to the floor, her thoughts jumbled. She'd had a valid reason to seek out the Rangers . . . . Why had she even tried to return to the past? What made her think that there could be anything more between her and Chip now? She had ruined the friendship between Chip and Dale again, and then had tried to reconcile with Chip. Was she insane? She was mindlessly picking at the sequins on her evening gown when she heard a subtle shuffling outside her door. Her ears strained, but she never heard a knock. Adrenaline running through her veins, she picked herself up and threw open the door.

"Wow—Miss Clarice! You're so aweso—"

The autograph hound, er, hamster, as it were, never got a chance to finish. The door slammed angrily in his face. "Geeze," he huffed, and slunk back out the "Stage Crew Only" door.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Clarice paced furiously around her dressing room. Ok. She had made some mistakes. But what right did Chip have telling her off, then sneaking into the very back of the club to secretly watch her act? Now who was being ambiguous? And why didn't he have the nerve to come and talk to her? She flung herself on the couch, crossing her arms bitterly. What a jerk.

After sulking for a few more minutes, Clarice finally rose and stared at herself in her mirror. Grimacing, she grabbed the jar of cold cream and energetically began to rub it into her fur. Snatching a few tissues from a nearby box, the makeup was removed with a few practiced swipes. She examined her now naked face closely in the mirror. What did Chip ever see in her anyway? A line here, a wrinkle there, her lips were far too thin . . . .

Two sharp raps at her door cut her self degradation short. Giving a world-weary moan, Clarice padded to the door. She ground her teeth, expecting either another autograph monger or a tirade from Max over her post-show behavior.

"Hi."

Clarice truly felt as though she would die. Here she was, no makeup, a crumpled silk and sequined gown, standing awestruck and weak-kneed in front of Chip Maplewood. The tuxedo-clad chipmunk's eyes darted about, unable to bring them to rest on the beautiful singer. He jammed his hands anxiously into his pockets, looking vulnerable, somehow. Maybe it was because he wasn't wearing his fedora.

The pair stood stock still in the doorway for a few seconds at most. Clarice pulled her wits about her with difficulty and opened the door wider, permitting Chip to enter. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bouquet of tea roses, his cheeks flushing briefly as he took a seat in Clarice's dressing table chair. Clarice sat as elegantly as possible on her plush sofa, her eyes focused on the floor. Silence hung heavily in the air.

Even though Clarice wasn't looking at him, Chip felt highly self-conscious. To be honest with himself, he wasn't even sure what he was doing. Something inside him had told him to attend her performance and an unseen force had directed him to visit her backstage. It hadn't been difficult; being a Rescue Ranger had its privileges—especially after he had worked so diligently on Max's kidnapping. Ultimately, it was Chip that spoke first.

"It was a good show tonight."

Clarice sneaked a quick glance at Chip to see if he was being truthful. Sure enough, he was now gazing intently at her, his eyes shining with sincerity. "Um, thank you," she managed to say. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"The others don't know I'm here."

"Backstage?"

"At the club at all."

"Oh." Clarice pursed her lips, unsure how to respond to that detail. "Well, do you think they'll be worried if they go home and you're not there?"

Chip shrugged, rather nonchalantly. "I don't think so."

Clarice didn't know why, but she began to feel a little more at ease. Perhaps it was the way that Chip was looking at her—or the fact that he was looking at her at all.

"You look better without the makeup."

"What?"

Chip gestured subtly with his hands toward his own face. "No makeup."

"Oh! Right." She laughed softly, relaxing a bit more. "So," she began, "what was your favorite part of the show tonight?"

Chip's eyes now moved to the ceiling as he thought back. "Probably . . . the tap dance with '42nd Street.'"

Clarice covered her face with her hands. "You've got to be kidding."

"Why?"

"It really wasn't that good!"

"Now _you're_ kidding. You're the best since Canina la Fur."

"I am not! I didn't practice that number nearly enough."

Chip raised a skeptical eyebrow, but dropped the subject. "I enjoyed your piano player."

"He's nowhere nearly as good as you were—he can't play ragtime."

Chip smiled a modest, almost embarrassed smile. "I probably can't either, anymore."

"Nonsense. Chip, you had a true gift." She paused, weighing her words carefully. "I'd like it very much if you would come play for me sometime."

He ran a shaky hand through his head fur, contemplating her request. She sounded innocent enough, and he had to admit, the offer sounded surprisingly appealing. "Um, maybe when I've got some downtime," he mumbled.

Clarice nodded knowingly. "I understand—being a Rescue Ranger kind of keeps you occupied."

The pair sat quietly, having run out of polite conversation. Chip took a deep breath, then rose from his chair. "Well, I'd probably better get home." He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets once more, his shoulders slightly hunched. He walked toward the door of the dressing room.

Clarice got to her feet as well and padded after him, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. He had already gotten the door open and was halfway out when she found her voice.

"Chip?"

He turned, his head cocked questioningly. "Yes?"

Clarice felt very shy. "I just wanted to know if you'd like to stay for a cup of coffee or something. I'm sure they haven't closed the kitchen." As he hesitated, Clarice dropped her eyes and timidly rubbed her neck.

"Why not?" He flashed a crooked smile, and the two made their way into the now nearly deserted seating area.

As they waited on coffee and dessert, Clarice had to giggle softly.

"What is it?" Chip felt a little nervous and tugged on his bow tie to loosen it.

"Nothing." She giggled again, lightly. "It's just that . . . well, I though you were a real creep for not coming back to see me tonight. And then, all of a sudden, there you were."

Chip smirked at this as their orders were served. "I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same." He stirred a little cream into his coffee and stared deeply into his cup as he spoke. "It's pretty obvious I've had a hard time with this."

Clarice toyed with a bite of her cheesecake. "I know. I'm incredibly sorry about everything." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "I guess I really caught you by surprise, just showing up like I did. I—I just figured that I should come and see you face to face." Her cheeks flushed. "I knew there was a possibility that you would slam the door in my face, but I'm glad you gave me a chance." Chip still didn't look up at her, so she stuffed her mouth full of cheesecake so that she wouldn't have to say anything more for a few moments.

"Well," Chip began softly, "you know I thought about not talking to you at all." He caught her almost imperceptibly nodding out of the corner of his eye. "But I knew I couldn't do that." He knitted his eyebrows together. "For more reasons than one." He sipped at his bitter drink, trying to find the words. "Clarice, I still—"

"Stop." Clarice took his hands into her own, causing him to look up at her in surprise. She gazed into his eyes, searching them. "Don't say anything you might regret later." She gripped his hands tighter. "Just wait awhile."

He sat mutely for a long moment, and then nodded his agreement. Clarice reluctantly let go of his hands to cradle her own coffee cup. The warmth was soothing, but could not replace the warmth of Chip's hands against hers.

For a few minutes, nothing was said while they consumed the coffee and cheesecake. When the plates were clean and the cups refilled, they sat comfortably, admiring each other. Chip glanced at the clock and his face fell. Clarice noticed and patted his hand. "It's late," she murmured. "You'd better get some rest."

"Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for the conversation."

Chip smiled, broadly this time. "You too." He pushed his chair back, then hurried to handle Clarice's chair. She smiled demurely as she stood. Chip stood back a little, shaking his head with slight amusement. "Your dress is wrinkled."

She swatted at him playfully. "You're just now noticing?" She got up the nerve to tuck one arm snugly into Chip's and walked him to the exit.

Once they reached the door, Chip hesitated a moment before leaving. "So, I guess you got everything, right?"

She nodded, a smile touching her lips. "I'll be staying in an apartment upstairs for the time being. It's nice and roomy, so I'll be fine."

"Well, alright."

An awkward pause.

Suddenly, Chip gently but firmly grasped Clarice's shoulders and delicately brushed his lips against hers. Without another word, he darted out into the cold night, the door closing swiftly behind his retreating form.

A little dazed, Clarice brought one hand up to her face and tremulously touched her lips. She grinned, a little coyly; perhaps hope was not lost for her and Chip. She thanked her lucky stars that there would be perhaps more to come for them both.


	10. Epilogue

Chip sat blankly at the piano, his hands resting on the keys. Finally, he began to play and sing . . .

"You're always sorry,  
You're always grateful,  
You're always wondering  
What might have been—  
Then she walks in.

And still you're sorry,  
And still you're grateful,  
And still you wonder  
And still you doubt—  
And she goes out.

Everything's different, nothing's changed.  
Only maybe slightly rearranged.

You're sorry—grateful,  
Regretful—happy.  
Why look for answers  
When none occur?  
You always are what you always were,  
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.

You're always sorry,  
You're always grateful,  
You hold her, thinking:  
'I'm not alone.'  
You're still alone.

You don't live for her,  
You do live with her,  
You're scared she's starting  
To drift away,  
And scared she'll stay.

Good things get better, bad get worse.  
Wait, I think I meant that in reverse.

You're sorry—grateful,   
Regretful—happy.  
Why look for answers  
When none occur?  
You'll always be what you always were,  
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.

Nothing to do with, all to do with her."

At the conclusion of his song, he propped his head on his hands and stared pensively through the window at the moonlight gleaming off of the snow.

A lone figure lurked in the shadows of the doorway, heart yearning, but remaining silent for the time being.

Fin.


	11. Credits

1

Credits

"Love Me or Leave Me"—Originally sung by Ruth Etting in the 1928 musical _Whoopie_, written by Walter Donaldson and Gus Kahn; later performed by Doris Day for Etting's biographical film _Love Me or Leave Me_ in 1955.

"In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning"—Written by D. Mann and B. Hilliard; this has been performed by several artists, but most notably by Frank Sinatra. It was also featured in the hit film _Sleepless In Seattle_, sung there by Carly Simon.

"My Destiny"—Written by Billy Eckstine; this has also been performed by many, but of course was sung by Clarice in the 1947 short in which she appeared so famously—"Two Chips and a Miss."

"You're the Top"—Lyrics and music by Cole Porter; written for the Broadway musical _Anything Goes_ which opened in 1934.

"Get Here"—Written (I believe) and performed by Oleta Adams. Written in 1990, it was sung often in regards to the troops involved with Desert Storm. A modern, but very classy piece.

"Sorry—Grateful"—Lyrics and music by Stephen Sondheim; written for the Broadway musical _Company_ in 1970.


End file.
